A Night in the Lamb & Flag
by ElliotJA
Summary: Richie's never had much success in life. But one evening, something different happens.


"Well, hello there, baby." That was how Richard Richard - known to most of the loser crowd in the Hammersmith area as Richie, or 'the Hammersmith Crumpet Radar', or just 'That Tiny-Penised Tosser' - chose to open the conversation with the attractive young woman who had been sitting by herself in the Lamb &amp; Flag for the past hour and a half. The woman looked up from her glass of vodka and coke to find herself facing Richie, who was giving her what he liked to think was his best sexy, suave look, but was in reality the sweating, feverish face of a sad, desparate git. "May I say, what a charming blouse you have on," he added, winking.

The expression she gave Richie was one nobody, even someone as stupid as he was, could fail to recognize as utter contempt and exasperation. Swiftly downing the remainder of her drink, she stood up and, looking Richie directly in the eye, said "Go to hell, arsehole", before walking out of the oub into the night, leaving Richie standing alone at the table.

It had happened again. As he stood in silence, he wondered, not for the first time, why he bothered. Nothing ever changed; the result was always the same - he was a loser. Perhaps until the day he finally snuffed it. Would anyone mourn him, he wondered. Not effing likely...

Richie looked around for Eddie; the git was nowhere in sight. Oh, wait, there he was - well, his legs anyway, protruding from underneath one of the tables. And there were Dave Hedghog and Spudgun, both passed out on the table and surrounded by their failed attempts to smuggle alcohol out of the pub in condoms. _Obviously no point in staying here_, Richie thought. _Last time I tried dragging Eddie out, I got covered in so much vomit, people thought I'd tried to shag a pizza_.

Having braved the dogs outside the entrance, that were always inexplicably drawn to savaging his and Eddie's faces and testicles, Richie began the walk through the drizzle back to the flat, hunching his shoulders against the wet and cold. In a rare moment if clarity, he noticed how dark and cruel the world around him truly was, and wondered how anyone could cope. _Just why do I carry on_, he asked himself...

The sound of raised voices suddenly intruded on his introspection. Following the sound to the opposite side of the street, he saw a woman he recognized as the one he'd unsuccessfully tried to flirt with earlier in the Lamb &amp; Flag, standing near a busstop and having a heated argument with a hulking, tattooed skinhead. "I'm sick of your abuse, OK?" he heard the woman saying. "You've no respect for me, you're never around when I need you...I've had enough!"

The bloke shot back, his voice slurring. "Don't give me any of your whiny crap! I own you, got that? I do what I like, and if you don't like it, you're dead meat!"

Normally, seeing couples arguing didn't mean much to Richie. He would simply carry on walking, go home to his girly magazines and shut the world out. But tonight...something was different...

That was when the man punched the woman in the face, so hard that she dropped to her knees on the wet pavement, with both hands covering her nose. The man reached down and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her screaming up.

It went without saying that Richie was no stranger to strong physical violence, being both the giver and receiver in hus frequent punch-ups with Eddie. However, on seeing a helpless woman being viciously battered, he was suddenly overcome by something he did not feel often: Outrage at another person's ill-treatment.

Before he could stop himself, he was marching across the road shouting sternly "I say! You...you ruffian! Kindly leave that poor woman alone, or - and I mean it - I will have to give you a damn good twatting!"

The thug turned and glared at the greasy-haired, bulging-eyed weirdo standing there shaking with fury, and spat "Piss off, prick!"

Refusing to back down, Richie put his fists up and starting hopping up and down. "Right, well, you've asked for it then!" he said. "Stick 'em up, punk, and take your best shot! Yeah, that's right, let's see you take on a man in a fair fight!"

That was when he found himself with a boot in the groin and his face in the busstop timetable. Several times.

OOOOOOOO

Richie regained consciousness in a hospital room, in bed, and in considerable pain. It didn't take long for a doctor to come in and check his injuries. "Well, then, Mr Richard," the doctor eventually said. "I think you'll shortly be well enough to check out. But before you leave, there's someone who'd like to see you."

A minute later, in walked the last person Richie expected to see: The young woman he'd attempted to defend earlier. "Hello, Richard, isn't it?" she said, smiling and walking over to him. "Look, I just want to thank you for trying to help me earlier. I really appreciate it, and I'm sorry you got hurt."

Richie was too gobsmacked to speak; an attractive woman was actually being nice to him! Was this really happening? Perhaps he was dreaming, and would shortly wake up to find Eddie setting his nipples on fire on the cooker. But the woman leaned forward and gently kissed him on the cheek, before walking out of the room. It was strange, knowing he'd done something to help someone in need, and it had been worth it. He felt weirdly happy and content. Maybe this marked the start of a better life...

The doctor reappeared in the doorway then. "Excuse me, Mr Richard, do you know an Eddie Hitler?" he asked. "I'm afraid he's had a bit of an accident with some washing up liquid...and some petrol."

Richie sighed. Some things never changed...


End file.
